And Now I Need Some Help From The Maestro, Please.

This weekend was prodigiously acrobatastic. A lot of things happened. I got in and out without a scratch, stories intact. One night, we discussed censorship and transparency over drinks. Neil cracked me up by filling me in on old-school MPAA policies. I listened as he and our friend Tyler analyzed antiquated standards. Tyler threw out how ironic it is that "retro" is so in right now, considering how locked-down things were back in the day. People were freaking square.

Neil agreed, "Making movies, you couldn't do shit. Anything interracial? No. You couldn't have interracial romance. You couldn't have interracial smiling. Black lady smiles at a white man? Nope. Not happening. Oh, and anybody who does something wrong--like murders someone, or cheats on his wife, [basically breaks the social contract]--has to pay for it in the end. Like, they have to get punished."
I asked, "So bad guys could never get away with it?"
"No. It always had to catch up with them or the movie didn't happen."

It's crazy to think that certain stories simply weren't told because some bunch of geezers said gen pop couldn't handle it. People weren't allowed to think life was unfair, it was considered unsavory to smooch someone of a different race, one couldn't scope out this sexiness. Examining the struggle between shelter and exposure blew my mind. What were people so afraid of? Why was it so shocking? You like to think these agencies are protecting us, but it's weird to stop and think: protecting us from what? So anyway, that was Thursday.

Friday night we ran into a rag-tag band of Colonial soldiers. This militia of girls decked out like minutemen bellied up next to us at the bar in their tri-corner hats with Betsy Ross flags wrapped around their shoulders. We nodded as if to say, "Evening, ladies. You show those lobsterbacks how we do things stateside. Stay free."

Saturday, I ran around the city and set things on fire. Sunday I went swimming and hung out with the fam. Ok, I'm not trying to get all Xanga on you. I had fun this weekend, but there are cooler things to worry about than the my interactions with my supercool friends and family.

Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace


Darkplace is a show within a show. It's sort of like Kingdom Hospital, only difference is that it's perfect in every way--and it knows it. The actual program "Darkplace" is based in another layer of reality where moron/science-fiction writer/assclown/dream-weaver "Garth Marenghi" is called upon by the BBC to drag a spooky miniseries he threw together back in the '80s out from the the creepy recesses of his basement. He blows off the cobwebs and the Cheeto dust, ready to scare the pants off a new generation of "travelers" brave enough to venture into the horrifying world that is Garth Marenghi's idiot mind.

Garth and the rest of the cast have been called back for interviews which are scattered throughout the bone-chilling tales of supernatural terror which take place in Darkplace Hospital. Each asinine "Darkplace" character (like world-renowned GP Dr. Rick Dagless, suave sidekick Dr. Lucien Sanchez, unpredictable woman Dr. Liz Asher, or hardass Thornton Reed) is played by a two-bit, scrub actor on the alternate reality level (who, in turn, is played by an incredibly skilled, hilarious actor who lives in the real world that you and I inhabit). The sublevel actor-characters see Darkplace's re-release as a chance to discuss the ground-breaking work of art that they helped to create, but the implication is that the BBC just really needed to fill some air time and demanded that these people explain what the hell is even going on with this terrible show.

It's an extremely clever, very short series (all of six episodes). Steve Merchant has a hilarious cameo. I might have overcomplicated it, but whatever. You'll get it when you see it. It's amazing.

Wizard People, Dear Readers


Wizard People, Dear Readers is like Harry Potter RiffTrax only it's done by Brad Neely. You may or may not know that he is a genius (having seen The Professor Brothers and/or Washington.) He narrates The Sorcerer's Stone like a book on tape and it is ideal. I watched it last winter when classes were canceled due to a snow storm. It was perfect like a cat's birthday.

Brad Neely is over the top, but right on target. He deftly renames almost every character Harry encounters (with "Catface McMeowmers" for Madam Hooch being my favorite). He explains the mind-boggling action that unfolds before your eyes like an excited, concerned friend who wants to make sure you appreciate the magical fantasies that wait around every enchanted corner. He roots Harry on during Quidditch, he breathlessly delivers a blow-by-blow account of the ogre fight, he seethes with contempt as he relays the shady shenanigans of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. He sucks you into the movie with the most ridiculous enthusiasm.

I don't think he ever really got the rights to do this, but you need to torrent it. It is one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

Pogo (formerly Fagottron)



Neil tells me that this DJ has been extracting music from old movies like Charlie and The Chocolate Factory and Alice in Wonderland for a while. Disney saw that he was rad and paid him to do a few for Up and Toy Story. They did make him switch from "Fagottron" to "Pogo" though. Anyway, his recuts are sick and I really like the idea of using classic movies as the base of a song. It's not even a sample at that point: it's the source. Also, this song is sweet.



Underwater Land



Now, we both know that Shel Silverstein was the man. His work as an artist, a poet, a musician, a lyricist have all fascinated me. I have more respect for Shel Silverstein's creativity, versatility, and ideology than I can say. The man wrote A Light in the Attic and The Giving Tree. He wrote A Boy Named Sue. He wrote Cover Of The Rolling Stone. He ruled it all.

It comes as no surprise that the nautically themed album he made with Pat Dailey is one of my favorite collections of chilled-out beach tunes around. Yeah, they're kid songs, but I don't care. They rock. If you're going down the shore anytime soon you should download this album, put it on your jambox, and crank that jawn on the beach. They're goofy songs, and Shel Silverstein's voice is ridiculous. You'll be glad you did.

Sucker Punch

I can't even think straight. Just watch this trailer and know that this movie will rock your socks.